Back To Her West Wing Roots
by soulache
Summary: They were House and Cuddy. Not House and Cameron. Read and review.


This is a begrudgingly House/Cuddy fanfiction. My sister wanted me to write her a bunch for Christmas and inspiration struck while I was deep in memories of The West Wing. Which is what the title is from, duh.

Enjoy, or not. I don't really care either way, but reviews would be super nice!  
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Being in love wasn't the worst thing in the world, at least it wouldn't be if you weren't House. Also it would help if the person you were in love with wasn't your annoying, do-gooder boss with fantastic breasts and an ass that wouldn't quit.

"House!" Speak of the devil and the devil doth appear, nasal whine and all.

"Hey Cuddles. Miss me so soon?" You crack one eye open to find her staring down at you intensely. Her jaw is stuck out even further than usual, and it's definitely an unattractive angle. You don't care though because you're knee deep in those pink fuzzy feelings. In fact, all you're thinking of doing is leaning over and brushing your lips against the strong line.

"No, but your patients are missing you," Cuddy was annoyed. You could tell it in the tone of her voice and the colour that rose to her cheeks. You could also tell she liked it by her pupils. This was probably the closest she's come to foreplay since the "Ballroom Bitch" as you nicknamed him. And you _could _tell he was a mama's boy by the way he blinked his left eye.

"I've already started treatment for my patient. It was lupus because sometimes it is actually lupus. I'll be damned though, I never thought I'd actually outlive the vicodin to see it." You pop a pill as you announce this because frankly, she's standing just a little too close for comfort and maybe being numb, in certain regions, wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

"The patients in the clinic. The cli-nic, House," you hated when she spoke to you like that. Hated the way her lips rubbed against one another. Hated the way that sometimes she did infact make you feel like a child.

"I'm in the... cli-nic, was it?" Gesturing with your one hand around the clinic room and feinging incompetence isn't something that is hard for you. Playing all these different roles is easy with the wonder of sarcasm. Sarcasm is who you should be in love with, really.

"House!" Cuddy spits at you impatiently, "You shut yourself in an exam room, that hardly qualifies as doing clinic work."

"They're ill, not stupid. If they really need help they should be able to find me. Besides, it's scary down here and I got lost. And the best policy is to stay where you are until someone," and then you can't help but add, "or something finds you. And look, here you are!"

You watch as she runs her hand through her hair and you kind of wish it was your hand because there's no way those curls can be as soft as they look. She lets out this long-suffering sigh, one that she probably has reserved especially for you because god knows you've heard it enough. And then she stares because what else can she do? You're House, so you're not going to give up. And she's Cuddy, so she's not going to give in. And that's what makes it all so interesting.

"I'm getting really tired of this."

"Apparently not tired enough because we keep going through this weird time loop," you bang your fists up against a mime wall and speak in a high off-pitch voice, "Help. Let me out!"

"How about we work out some sort of deal?" She brushes a thick hanck of hair off of her jacket shoulder and you watch as she positions her hand on her hip. Vaguely you wonder just how much time she's been spending with Wilson.

"If you let me feel you up, I'll do the next two months without compliant."

"Fine." You heard the word, but it somehow wooshed over your head because it's not what the dialouge was calling for. Now you sensed some sort of dangerous trap and you were not the kind of mouse that got caught in traps. No offence to Steve McQueen, of course. That was different. He was charmed into submission.

"What are you and your breasts up to?" You watch as she self-consciously looks down at her chest. Nothing to be shy about, you think. Unfortunately, you really want to be the only man looking at them.

"You only asked for that because you knew I'd say no. You don't really want it anymore than I do. So I'm calling your bluff," Cuddy's legs widen into battle stance and you would laugh if all the blood hadn't rushed into your _pulsating member._

You grab your cane and lift yourself off the chair and move to stand infront of her. She doesn't squirm, in fact she goes even more still and it's as if she's aware of the danger she got herself into. The danger she obviously wanted because you aren't blind and it's easy enough to see. Your hand reaches out to grab the back of her neck, and with the feel of her delicate bones in your palm you realize how large your hand must really be. And then without much more thought to anything at all your lips are unceremoniously upon hers.

Her lips are soft despite the way she usually has them pulled back in a snarl at you. She's not exactly kissing back, but when you bite her bottom lip a little harder than necessary she gasps and you slide your tongue in. Her mouth is hot, and as her tongue moves back against yours, you think willing as well. Her hands are travelling up your chest, and your muscles are bunching and clenching and coming undone at the touch of her fingers until she has them at the nape of your neck.

Your hands are tugging her shirt out of her pants as you kiss her backwards against the counter. Her skin is both soft and hard, and somewhere at the back of your distantly poetic mind you make the connection between her personality and it. But then your hands move up to her bra and your concentration for thoughts at all has flown out the window. She breaks the contact with your lips to drag hers along your jaw, her tongue peeking out to catch flesh every few seconds. You'd never admit it, but it made your hands shake as you roughly drew her bra up. Her nipples are erect and pressing insistently against your palm.

You want to take her shirt off, but you don't. You wan't to slide her skirt off, rip her panties off. Somehow you contain yourself though. You continue to toy with her breasts as she rubs herself against you like a cat. You've never had a particular fondness for cats, but this of course is different. Of course, somehow you've lost control of your thoughts and many different images are clicking through your brain. Your brilliant brain, of course, so they're all somehow brilliant even if you can't manage to keep them in your head for more than three seconds because you have the woman you love in your arms. Finally.

This isn't how you want the first time to be though, and you never thought you'd say something like that. You never thought the fourteen year old girl in you would win out when Cuddy is ready and willing to go. You give her one last, passionate kiss. None of that gentle ending crap, this is the same as you started. It was like an explosion and you knew it would be every time you touched her.

You pull away and she still has her eyes closed. She probably hasn't even really gathered what happened. That puts a little boost in your ego. That you could throw off Miss Professional just by using your body, your lips, your hands. That you could throw her off in the most basic, natural way. Her face is flushed and suddenly her eyes flutter open to look into yours.

"I'm going back to my office," you state because there's nothing left to do here, as you already decided you can't do her.

"But you said - the clinic hours - we had a-"

"I lied," you say as you cut her off, "And you're kind of a whore."

You flash her one impish smile and swing out of the door. What did you expect? That we would fall into eachothers arms declaring devotion and whispering sweet nothings? You are House, she is Cuddy. You're not going to give up, and she's not going to give in. You're House and Cuddy.

And that's what makes it so interesting.


End file.
